


Death with Dignity

by Blu3sc0rpion, Caidepgun



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Threesome, Choking, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Kiss, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Choking (Star Wars), Hurt Anakin Skywalker, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Mindfuck, Mutual Pining, Rape, Rough Sex, Sadistic Obi-Wan Kenobi, Self-cest, Sexual Assault, Unresolved Sexual Tension, no happy ending, rape fantasy kink, voyeurism kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23714476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blu3sc0rpion/pseuds/Blu3sc0rpion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caidepgun/pseuds/Caidepgun
Summary: What might happen if Darth Vader had Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker in the same room? Everything the two Jedi thought they knew about themselves and each other is suspect under the Dark Lord’s whims.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 81





	Death with Dignity

**Author's Note:**

> We apologize in advance.... 
> 
> Blu3/Caidepgun

Had he always been handsome? Prior to Kenobi's betrayal that is. Had his body always been this beautiful?

Vader's rhythmic breathing echoes through the room. The man in front of him shudders as his gaze meets his own.

The room’s fluorescent lights refract the warmth of his sun-kissed skin perfectly. His hair sloppily hangs over his eyes, thick lashes flutter open- hopeful blue eyes dart towards another man, bound with his hands behind his back and kneeling while gagged and topless at the corner of the cold, empty room. Through chapped lips Anakin hisses, “Whatever you’re looking for, prepare to be _disappointed_ . You’re not getting anything _from me._ ” 

His eyes look towards the other man again, seeking reassurance or some sort of sign that he had a plan- a way to get themselves out of this mess, before they train on him again. Vader knows exactly what that venomous glint in Anakin’s eye really is and how empty his words are, whether Anakin knew them to be so or not. He wants to be saved- _expects_ to be saved. Anakin is always looking for his Master to come to his rescue.

“Obi-wan can’t save you from _me_ ,” Vader growls, savoring the delicious irony of it. Oh how many times his old pathetic Master had failed him- it led to his birth as the Dark Lord to begin with. Yet through ignorance Anakin clings onto him like a callow infidel. It was useless. He remembers the feeling as an old ache in the back of his mind. It was _weakness-_ but no longer _his_ weakness.

Vader curses the wretched helmet for obscuring his vision. It leaves a bothersome dark tint that detracts from his admiration of the sculpted relic from his past standing before him.

Anakin stands chained against the wall, wrists bloodied from the durasteel that fetters him. His skin looks dangerously tempting. Vader reaches out and trails his gloved hand across Anakin's exposed torso. Feathering across the molten array of greens and purples - lingering on the sensation of soft tissue and lean muscle.

He’d always been a little vain, knowing he was anything but homely or undesirable. Even still it was impossible to fully appreciate what he had until it was long gone. _Oh_ , how he misses this body.

_His_ body. 

And he can’t help but notice the way Anakin trembles- trying so hard to portray an image of strength and pride when he feels himself void of it all. Vader is both enraged and humored by it. Anakin’s defenses are failing. He was always so fragile in so many ways, and still is. 

Vader's traces the soft line where lean muscle and tendons connect- mimicking how Skywalker's wife had once caressed him. Anakin's eyes widen with horror as the Sith draws careful circles around his naval, taking advantage of the response it elicits while pulling on the Jedi’s emotions purposefully, intent to overwhelm him. Not all at one, of course. He would break him down bit by bit, piece by piece, and savor every second of it. 

Ashamed and aroused Anakin thrashes against his bondage. The unforgiving steel cuffs dig into his bruise mottled wrists- breaking skin, adding a dark crimson to the colors that adorn his arms. He winces as he feels Vader's finger peer down his trousers, tugging the hem of his pants. Anakin's mortified expression earns a chuckle from the Sith Lord.

"Get the fuck away from me!" Anakin snarls, pulling away from the Sith's grasp as much as he was able, which was not much at all- not with him pressed against the wall and Vader mere centimeters away from him.

In a flash, Vader closes the small distance between them as he lunges forward and clasps his artificial hand around Anakin's throat. He lifts the Jedi up by the neck with ease, and the tips of Anakin’s toes dance on the floor as he gasps frantically for air. 

Obi-Wan could only watch in panic. Bound by tight, unrelenting chains with a gag lodged firmly and immovably in his mouth he was unable to verbally comfort Anakin or curse the Sith to damnation. Instead, he sat by, useless. His bond with Anakin muddled by the Sith’s presence, he could not even properly reach out to him without being cut off. 

Darkness leached in the space around them and Obi-wan nearly choked on it as it filled the empty room. He felt it infecting his thoughts and emotions as he tried to keep them underfoot. He tried to calm himself enough so he might find a way out but it was difficult. The Dark Side clouds everything that Obi-wan seeks to find refuge in, nearly cutting him off entirely from the light. He’s drowning already, overcome with anger as he sees the Sith monster strangling his precious Anakin. 

Vader can’t feel Anakin beneath his thick leather gloves. He can’t feel the heat that radiates off his skin but it doesn’t stop him from trying. The things he can’t sense for lack of limbs is compensated through the force. With it, he can feel the burning ache in Anakin’s lungs for the lack of oxygen, the sickening heady rush as he releases his hold just enough to let him maintain consciousness. He can feel Obi-wan's desperate horror as he looks on, utterly helpless in his rage. 

Vader thrives on Kenobi's screams. With the gag tightly wrapped around his mouth he struggles like a rabid beast. His agony floods their shared bond. Not his and Anakin's but _their_ bond. Eroding the Force with acrimony, Obi-wan attempts to free himself but instead conducts measures of metal on concrete- each bang louder than the previous, singing into Vader’s ear words of encouragement. 

Vader presses inside Anakin's mind through his broken, failing shields. It felt like coming home in a way. He knew just where to find the most vulnerable parts of the man, his most forbidden thoughts and desires. Things that Anakin wouldn't admit to- not _ever_.

Vader relents his grip, toying with him, and with a drunken heave Anakin gasps for air. His lungs nearly seize as the rich oxygen fills them.

Provoked, Anakin began to fortify his shields but the Sith clung onto them. Vader did allow him a somewhat feeble attempt to rebuild his defenses, only so he could knock them back down. It was too easy.

The grip on his throat hardened with his failed attempt to block Vader, cutting off his airflow almost entirely.

Helpless, he wheezes, fruitlessly trying to reach for his throat. "Master." The words fade into breathless nothings, "Help me."

Anakin’s vision begins to dim as his senses ebb to failure before Vader relents his hold again and air fills his desperate, burning lungs. 

"I know what you are," Vader purrs. He enjoys this game. He likes breaking his toys. 

"You don't know the first kriffing thing about me!" Anakin shot back, venom building in his voice.

Vader's hand flew to Anakin's throat again, but this time he simply lingered, feeling the shape of the man's neck held loosely in his grip. "You are wrong." Vader snarls, amused.

"I know you better than you know yourself." He said gently, pulling on strings inside Anakin that he knew would surely unravel him entirely. 

Vader dives back into the Jedi. The intrusion edges Anakin as he feels the Sith's thumb tenderly stroke his swollen neck. Vader sorts through his mind, purposely searching. He pauses and groans at the memory he finds. If Vader was capable of a shudder - his body would ache, beg and cry out for release, but sadly that luxury was stripped from him. 

Vader’s gaze darts to the Jedi Master behind him, Obi-wan sits disheveled and neutered of all his power with a defiant wild blaze in his eyes. 

_Now, watch_

Obi-wan is taken aback. Vader reaches out through their bond and the Sith's voice rang in his ear with a familiar tone and accent- one he’s heard countless times, calling out to him, laughing, rabid with anger. It’s his voice. Anakin. _His_ Anakin. But this beast, cloaked in black and so hauntingly wicked, was everything that Anakin was not- would _never_ be. Obi-wan’s rage darkens and begins to curdle in his veins, his stomach filling with lead.

_What kind of sick joke was the Sith playing?_

Anakin still trembles against the Sith's hold. His mind is assaulted by the memory of him and Padme. Guilt overwhelms him - much as it had Padme, when he screamed his Master's name instead of hers.

"No-" Anakin says- _begs_ in protest.

Vader pulls on that string harder, sullying all Anakin's memories of Padme and Obi-wan, soiling them with his roving hands tearing through his mind, stamping on his skin.

Anakin is in utter torment, still chasing after the refreshing denial he’d bathed himself in for years now. Vader gives him no relent as he forces the Jedi to see and feel his deepest shame. For a moment Vader can't tell if it's more sadistic or masochistic for how much he enjoys watching Anakin squirm.

But he knows this Jedi, inside and out. He feels his repressed wants, growing stronger with every waking moment of negligence from the stunted mess that was Anakin- that he once was. 

Obi-wan's eyes stagger between the Sith and Jedi. A simmering of hatred festers inside his chest as the Force around Anakin becomes fogged with elicit longing.

Enthralled, Vader pulsates the memory inside his mind, amplifying the images into sensations - contorting it into his most shameful fantasy.

When he closes his eyes, Anakin feels his Master's hands run on his skin, his lips on his, his teeth leaving marks and bruises, his thighs covered in his Master's seed, ocean blue eyes stripping him to his core.

"St-stop-" Anakin all but begs, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the fervent image that seems to be burned into the back of his lids.

"I know you, Skywalker. I know what you want," Vader taunts him, tracing his hand lightly over his belly. "What you've always wanted."

Anakin tries to quell the need that rises within him but it's just too much. His shields are broken and shattered- in total disrepair. He's just a toy to this monster who seems to be able to manipulate his body and mind at will, without expending much effort at all. 

He doesn't dare utter what he wants- not when his Master’s eyes are on him. Not when Obi-wan’s pleading look begs for him to deny every touch. Even when broken he refused to concede it. To say it is a fate worse than death. 

And when his Master's gaze falls on his and lingers so sweetly, pleading, watching him tremble and shudder, It’s so much like how he’s dreamed of it. Those eyes roaming on his body- hungrily thirsting after him with an insatiable need only he could satisfy. He knew he could take it. He could be _so good_ for Obi-wan- to his Master, and when he closes his eyes his faith is only affirmed, but what he sees isn’t his Master- it’s an illusion. 

Anakin fights against it so hard- the sway Vader holds over his body and mind. He had been warring with these feelings for years and he tells himself he can keep fighting just a little bit longer. Obi-wan's eyes are on him still, so full of pity and shame. He wants to be stronger. He doesn't want to fall apart like this in front of his Master.

But his body betrays him- craves it, wants it, to be seen, to be heard. His cock twitches at the thought of Obi-wan watching him writhe. The Dark Lord wants him to cave, loves watching him fall to his sick designs. Anakin wants to hold out; wants to be stronger… 

His heart flutters and his stomach drops when Obi-wan's eyes meet his. He bites his lower lip - drawing blood from the velvety tissue. He lets the bitter taste guide him. The hand around his neck cinches again. 

With paper-thin conviction he glares into Vader's helmet and gurgles with what little air the Sith hand allows him, " _Kriff off._ "

Vader doesn't need to use words, he's already said enough. Lurid amusement is palpable in the Sith’s aura as Anakin's cock bobs when his trousers are ripped off him, leaving him totally exposed. His face is red hot with shame but his body is so needy he can't help the pleasured moan that leaves his lips when Vader takes a hold of his aching girth.

Outraged, Obi-wan thrashes against his confines as the Sith molests Anakin right before his eyes. His soul blazed with hatred as he desperately reaches out to him through their bond - unsure of what he wanted to feel from Anakin, he clings onto every ounce of hope that his erection is ill-timed.

Disgust, horror, or even shame. Obi-wan needed to feel that bleed from him but when he looked inside Anakin, all he sensed was bliss. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t his fault, that the Dark Lord was controlling him. Using him. And he knew those things were true. So why did he still feel betrayed? 

Anakin's eyes are glued shut, succumbing to the contrived romance echoing in his head.

Vader's hand stroked his length with expertise, his slow teasing movements lingering on the most sensitive parts. Earning scarce moans from Anakin, Vader, as a reward, tightened his grip in the Jedi's cock.

Vader could feel his world falling apart as much as he could feel the undeniable pleasure that pooled inside of him. He sensed Obi-wan's dread. That, perhaps, was the sweetest thing of all. His horror, his anger. For how much Obi-wan projected himself to be above such lowly emotions, right now he was consumed by them- all but taken by the darkness. 

It didn't take much for the Jedi to come undone. Vader kept pumping his cock in a steady rhythm, exactly what he knew Anakin wanted. He was dripping wet before he even touched him, and now he was soaking, shaking- he could barely stand and if it weren't for his restraints he would have collapsed.

His legs tremble as he leans against Vader. The Sith towers over him, leaving him feeling small and vulnerable, a feeling echoed when Obi-wan would lecture him. A depravity he yearns for when he’s around his Master.

This reality was cruel and unforgiving. Obi-wan was slurring howls through the gag as Vader pressed against him. The Sith, taking pity on how Anakin struggles to stand, lifts him by the waist and guides Anakin's legs to wrap around him. Eagerly, he fastens his ankles onto the small of Vader's back. 

He catches a glimpse of Obi-wan's infuriated expression.

The Force oozes poisonous envy as Obi-wan's chest erratically heaves a mixture of anger and disgust. His vision blurs with rage and he feels his connection with the light wither when he hears Vader chuckle.

"You pathetic, deprived thing," The Sith chides, feeling Anakin's hips grind against him, fucking into his massive gloved hand. Vader loved feeling Obi-wan's hate, it burned in the force like the heart of a star.

But that blaze was more than just hate. He was burning with envy.

And Anakin was losing all grip on reality, diving into something kinder than this nightmare that was playing out around him. He wants Obi-wan, it was a truth he’s been running from for years now. But Vader refused to let him run any more. Right now his Master was all that filled his mind, his senses. And he wanted it, _oh force_ did he want it- want _him_.

"You're so good to me dear one." Vader's artificial voice burned into him like a saber. Obi-wan's heart ceases to beat for a moment; his gaze slowly shifts from Anakin to the Sith cradling him.

Confusion courses through his veins, intoxicating him into a jealous rage. 

_That._

What the Sith just dare call Anakin.

_His Anakin._

Is an endearment only he could speak.

Anakin ruts against the hand - praying for more friction, shamelessly moaning, encouraging the Sith to quicken the pace. Vader happily obliges his sobs. 

"So good to your master." Vader nuzzles into the crook Anakin's neck.

The Sith's praises translated into Anakin's fantasy in the most delicious way possible. A thick Coruscanti accent punctuated every syllable - enunciating the vowels in the most pleasing of ways. Anakin hears it. His master's voice buzzes in his head. The voice of the man he's always wanted. The man he fears. The man he loves.

His Master.

Trapped, Anakin's vision obscures from the dead greys of their cell to the vibrant sunset bathed Council Chamber. 

With Obi-wan firmly pressed against him Anakin rocks his hips into his Master’s lap - savoring the friction of the man’s erection against his own. He tries to reach out and touch his Master's locks but is halted by reality- the durasteel cutting into his wrists. Rivulets of blood run down his arm as he cries out in pain. Obi-wan mistakes it for pleasure.

The pain skews his focus but only for a moment before he was quickly pulled back into the tempting illusion. It was so hard to tell the difference between reality and fantasy, and more than likely Vader intentionally blurred those lines- but it hardly mattered. The wicked satisfaction that hummed in the Dark Lord's aura sung around him, but to Anakin it didn't exist. In his mind he sees Obi-wan. He feels Obi-wan. And for a moment it seems like they were the only ones who existed.

He wants it to be real- to have Obi-wan want him, feel him. The way his Master's hand works him is so perfect; _he_ knew exactly how Anakin wanted to be touched.

Vader glared at Obi-wan through the lenses of his helmet. Every twitch of Anakin's hips, every soft moan and mumbled plea was a weapon. The anger in the man's eyes soldered into bitterness. Betrayal. Everything Vader ever wanted him to feel.

_‘You're so perfect for me, Ani.’_ the Master in his mind spoke. Anakin couldn't tell if it was still Vader manipulating him or not. He finds pleasure blinding him into ignorance; he doesn’t care who it was even though he knows he should. It all feels too real, and after years of wanting, he needed this.

Anakin could hardly breathe from hyperventilating, his core shaking from the pleasure welling there, coiling deep inside bright and hot.

"Yes," Anakin breathed, mewling and shuddering as he came hard, feeling the warm pleasure break and flood through his body.

Dazed with Obi-wan's taste still fresh in his mind he foolishly whimpers, "More."

His Master's heart sinks to his stomach as he hears Anakin's sweet cries. He chanted it - begged for more, worshipping Vader's touch. A surge of bitter jealousy reddens his cheeks as he watches the Sith free Anakin's binds.

A part of Obi-wan prayed that Anakin, in that moment, would seize the opportunity and escape- that he would dismember Vader, _kill him_ , or at the very least struggle against his advances. Anything to stop the Sith's loud breathing.

He wants nothing more than for Anakin to fight back. To show Obi-wan that he didn't enjoy it. That he didn't like Vader touching him. That he hates it...That those base, hedonist cries weren’t _exactly_ what they sounded like. 

But those hopes were shot dead when Anakin heartedly wraps his arms around Vader's neck and moans, "Plea-Please. More."

Vader peers over his shoulder, his hand firmly grasping Anakin’s thigh. His black, gloved fingers dig hard into his flesh, leaving lovely, sick bruises on the peachy skin. _His_ Anakin’s skin. 

Obi-wan feels Vader smile through the mask, feels himself sink further into the darkness of his thoughts where possession, rage and want coiled in its box. Usually it sat out of mind, full of all the things he had ever felt that strayed from the Code. Right now that box is hinged wide open. He’s seething with darkness, damning every inch of the Sith for touching what belongs to _him_.

The Sith cradles Anakin with ease: with one hand he holds him against the wall as his other works between his legs, tracing his finger along the sensitive flesh of his perineum. Teasing him, Vader's voice contorts into Obi-wan's, "Tell me what you want?"

Wrecked, Anakin confesses, " _You, Master. I want you_."

Anakin's core aches desperately to be filled, for his Master to have him like he’s fantasized so many times. He wants it- to be filled, to feel his master’s cock buried inside him- cry, sob for more. He felt the hardness of Obi-wan's slicked cock against his entrance and shivers as the tip pressed against his rim. 

“Louder,” Vader demands. He wants Obi-wan to hear- for the serenade to tempt him into a void of prurient humiliation. He wants Obi-wan to suffocate on his own hypocrisy; craving the boy he raised, the man he wrongfully labeled as a _brother_ ; the man he touches himself to when he’s alone with only himself to judge him for his sins… 

An injured amber sparks within the Sith in grief what he and Kenobi could have had. Regret hangs in his psyche- wilting into a distant tale of wishful thinking. He once wanted his master as Anakin does, rabidly sought out the man’s approval, screamed his name in pleasure, and hurt his wife because of it. Just like Anakin, but unlike the blubbering mess before him, he did not have the chance. They simply walked side by side, brothers in arms- an incestuously twisted craving festering between them, one neither was willing to admit. For to admit it would have been their downfall into domesticity. 

_And Force forbid they loved one another._

“ _Master._ ” 

Anakin’s moans melt deliciously into Obi-wan’s skin- his hairs stand on end, a tingle runs down his naval and breaks his resolve as his cock hardens. He should not be aroused. He shouldn’t, but when he sees Anakin’s toes curl, legs tremble, when he throws his head back and exposes the tempting flesh of his neck, when his face is twisted with pleasure- shameless in his enjoyment… Obi-wan couldn’t help but be enamored by how Anakin’s muscles tensed, how he squirmed near orgasm, how expressive he was, how vocal. His cock twitched as his mind fell into blasphemous cognitions. 

Would Anakin call _him_ Master? 

Would he sully the title for Obi-wan’s expense- to renounce the Code and all its contrivances for him? Then in that same vein... the thought of referring to Anakin as Padawan excited him.

“ _Master_ ,” He clutched onto Vader’s cape- his hands desperately looking for skin. Unable to find it, he settles for the smooth synthetic leather, _“Master, I need you._ ” He whispers loud enough for Obi-wan to hear. If Obi-wan once ached for Anakin he’s now in agony. His pants are unbearably tight.

Needy, Anakin squirms in the Sith’s arms- inching himself down on the cock so close to him. He craved it, no longer being able to satisfy himself with his finger. _Force_ , the aimless nights exploring himself- pretending it was Obi-wan inside him instead- shame consumed him the next day but he didn’t care. Not when he saw Obi-wan’s face the day of their capture, not when his master touched his back, not when he smiled, not when he did much of anything. His Master had a way of making every bad feeling cease to exist. His blue eyes were an anchor of clarity, making him focus on what really mattered.

Obi-wan was pure light. Anakin wanted so badly to feel the warmth of that light inside him now. He knew he didn’t feel Vader anymore. Not the stiff leather of his large hands, or the hardness of his metallic limbs. Instead he sees, feels and tastes the man he will forever live in the shadow of. 

“ _Master,_ ” Anakin moans again, completely and hopelessly lost to the growing need pooling in his stomach he rocks his hips- tempting what he believes to be his master, coaxing the man to reciprocate in vain.

Vader chuckles at the Jedi’s desperate attempt, he can feel Obi-wan’s darkened glare brand his mutilated back. A thunderous surge of lust clouds the Force around them, married with darkness. The emotions grow in intensity with every bated whimper that left Anakin’s lips, each serene keen cutting into Obi-wan’s spirit. _Oddly, reminiscent of Mustafar,_ bitter, Vader fastens his grip on Anakin as he lifts him up, carefully positioning his cock away from Anakin’s entrance but just close enough for the Jedi to feel the heat of the hardened girth.

Obi-wan watches starry-eyed, transfixed by the perfect musculature of Anakin’s back, how he twitches and writhes in want. He tries to ignore the warmth he feels inside himself- inadvertently feeding it as he continues to ogle the man’s sculpted muscle. His mind wanders to the perfect physique being sullied by his own nails, teeth, palms, fluids. How loud Anakin would yelp if he spanked him, how _deliciously_ red his ass would be, how tight he would be when he fucked him. How he could easily make him submit.

Distantly Obi-wan began to wonder if these ideas that were his at all, or if _Vad_ _er was planting lecherous seeds in his mind_. The Darkness permeated the air like thick smoke through the force and it was impossible to fend off against, making it difficult to know the answer. Regardless where the blame lay Obi-wan couldn’t wrench his mind away from them.

The perfect supple curve of Anakin’s ass, the dimples on the small of his back. How his legs trembled with anticipation. Obi-wan’s drunken gaze fell on his shoulders: the thin line of his shoulder blades leads to a warm tint that spans from his neck to his arms- painting Anakin in an orgasmic blush. Obi-wan could practically taste Anakin’s growing need. The way his hips stuttered for purchase that Vader denied him. 

Obi-wan can’t tell if he is angered for Vader denying Anakin pleasure or for touching his property, but either way the seething pit in his stomach wrenched when he heard Anakin’s needy, wordless pleas as he suffered so badly with want.

He loathes the proximity of Vader’s cock near Anakin. Really, he despises the thought of the Dark Lord being near him at all- but this specific thought stirs a vile sting in the back of his throat. Yet he can not deny that some sick part of him wants to see Anakin being stretched open by another- to hear him beg for his touch instead of Vader’s, to watch him weep as he’s forcibly taken.

Passively Obi-wan is horrified with himself for being able to think these things at all. He feels the seditious cravings behind them, wishes so badly that he could reach out for the light and dispel them into the force. But the light won't reach them here and he is lost in a downward spiral where all his thoughts become more hideous than the next- escalating in sexual grandeur. They topple over at the sight of Anakin’s deteriorated state; releasing chained depravities from the most carnal and sinful parts of himself.

And Obi-wan was lost to himself, his mouth watering insatiably as Anakin hungrily spears himself on the Dark Lord’s cock. He sees a shiver run down his spine as he takes him- legs spasming from the stretch. Anakin inhaled sharply as his tight hole swallowed the entire shaft past his velvety ring of muscle- the slick from the previous night aiding him. Even with their bond so muddied with darkness he could sense the raw thrill Anakin felt. It taunted him, ripped his heart to shreds but still he couldn’t look away.

Appalled- that’s what Obi-wan wants to feel, but every cell in his body defies him. Anakin’s back flexes as he struggles to adjust to the sensation. His whimpers, pleasure mixed pain ringing out in the otherwise silent room, drives Obi-wan mad. It’s the way Anakin’s rapid, shallow breaths deepen as the pain subsides into undeniable pleasure, how his panting takes a steady pace as he rolls his hips- urging the Sith to move, yet Vader doesn’t yield. 

Mindlessly Anakin heaves- trying his best to bob his hips up and down, searching for any friction. Left without any answer to his efforts he pouts, a sight all too familiar to his Master. His sweet mewls replay in Obi-wan’s mind as his eyes gravitate to the pink ring of muscle rhythmically pulsating around the Sith’s cock. 

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Anakin snarls, his voice reminiscent of when he commands his men. Oh how Obi-wan would oblige him; he wants to so badly. 

The Sith stands motionless facing Obi-wan, his tone is low, devoid of arousal or any emotion at all, “Are your Padawans always so insolent, Kenobi?” 

He freezes, dumbfounded by the question. Obi-wan expels a shaky breath when Anakin snaps his hips forward- demanding Vader’s thrust. The Sith’s fingers dig into his hips, anchoring him to cease his desperate rutting.

Anakin squeals as the metallic digits bruise his sides, a noise Obi-wan wishes he had the pleasure of being acquainted with. Meekly, Anakin resorts to the one thing he knows Obi-wan hates. With desperation eroding his judgment he allows himself to stoop so low. 

“ _Pl-please_.” 

Anakin sounds almost angelic when he begs, it’s a shame he doesn’t do it often. Obi-wan reprimands himself for not drilling manners into Anakin as a boy, even though he knows he did rigorously. A form of alternative punishment would have encouraged Anakin to behave, although it would have been terribly arousing and unorthodox to practice on a teenage Padawan. He shoots that thought down before it escalates any further. This has not been a good day by means of mental discipline. The Darkness made everything so difficult… 

“Well, Kenobi. How should I punish your Padawan?” Vader snickers, reading Obi-wan like an open book. _No-_ how could he have known? His shielding is impeccable. This must be some kind of mistake or well-aimed guess. He wasn’t thoughtlessly projecting...was he? 

“ _Master.”_ Anakin pleads, snapping Obi-wan from his frenzied trance, “ _Please I-I need you.”_

He bites his tongue- he wants to say it, _see_ it. He wants to see Anakin crying out for him, writhing, shaking with pleasure. He wants to _so badly_ , and the darkness encourages him, but his wants don’t outweigh the need to make Anakin cum on his cock. He loathes the idea of the Sith enjoying his padawan in front of him.

“ _Please.”_ The muscles on Anakin’s back tense as he arches- trying to gather what little friction he could, making Vader’s cock grind against his prostate. Anakin begins to mercilessly beg, blissfully unaware of the dreadful ache his precious voice stirs inside Obi-wan. His padawan- who was in fact no longer his padawan- though his seditious cravings screamed for him to claim, to take ownership of Anakin for what he truly was to him. 

_Everything_. 

“ _Obi-wan, m-master. I’ll be good. I promise.”_

The last shred of resolve he holds shatters instantly. Dark things- wants, twisted needs and unholy sins unfurl within him. He looks at Vader- the Sith’s expression is fully hidden behind shaded lenses but Obi-wan knows whatever dark eyes lurking beneath study his reaction intently. And really, there wasn’t much to analyze. He was broken by pleas, already soaking the thin fabric of his trousers with precum- he could no longer hide his arousal. With pleading eyes, he lowers his head in shame and a hint of excitement runs through his body as he looks up and nobs, granting the Sith permission. 

Obi-wan finds himself helplessly rapt as Vader unsheathes himself from Anakin’s hot, wet hole, fixated as the Jedi groans, mourning the loss of sensation. In the next moment Vader tightens his grip on Anakin and savagely impales the man on his cock. 

Obi-wan can’t look away. He watches in awe as Anakin’s hole hungrily wraps around the Sith’s length. Seductive moans resonate in his ear, sending phantom shockwaves through his body. He’s never heard Anakin like this before. The Knight sounds _gorgeous_ , with every sudden hitch his mewls only grow in volume, overriding Obi-wan’s senses. His mind is overtaken by the beautiful noises escaping Anakin’s lips making Obi-wan painfully aware of the ache pooling in his gut, traveling down to his cock.

Anakin is totally lost to sensation, diving into the violence, despite it all he feels anchored. He feels his Master’s hands guide him, feels his body under his palms, grounding and steadying him. The only constant stringing his life together. The one man he wants _so much_ \- even more than he could ever hope to want his wife.

“ _Mah-aster”_

And time stops- if only for a brief moment, he feels his chest burst with happiness. Obi-wan feels it- the pent up yearning inside Anakin, all the years of pining over him. He sees Anakin’s every fantasy, daydream and intention. The emotions glow brighter than a kyber crystal. Unabashed, Obi-wan indulges them, reciprocating his own feelings through their bonds- diving into Anakin’s mind, Obi-wan’s heart flutters as confirmation after confirmation of Anakin’s attraction to him plays like a Holofilm. Even through the darkness he can feel it, see it all so clearly. 

He isn’t the type to snoop inside another’s memories. He tells himself and almost believes it to be true, but he’s always been a hypocrite- hiding behind the Code as if it were a godsend of an excuse to judge others. He knows this, knows how much damage he causes the man he claims to love, how badly Anakin’s heart burns when their tender gazes meet after a dangerous mission.

How the probability of death inches them forward into those irrational feelings- their irrational attachment. How no matter how hard they try to sever their connection they actively reinforce it through nothing but willpower alone. Obi-wan remembers the taste of relief when he sees Anakin walk uninjured from a battle, how the thought of his beloved sustaining any bruises both excited and infuriated him. Seeing marks on Anakin’s neck gave rise to jealousy- knowing that the whore he called his wife was permitted to touch him when he could not. The satisfaction was too great when he found that Anakin called his name and not hers. Simply knowing that his reach into Anakin’s life spans so far delighted him.

Anakin’s moans hitch into sobs, and his sweet voice corners Obi-wan into one of his most lavish fantasies. He groans as his mind is clouded by the vivid image of taking Anakin in the Council Chamber, relishing the slap of skin as he thrusts into the Padawan he raised, hands trembling on the Grand Master’s chair as Anakin’s legs give out on him. Blush creeps up behind his ears. Obi-wan feels the man shiver through the thick Jedi robes separating him from Anakin’s sweat-soaked skin. 

His cries become more exquisite with each heave of Obi-wan’s hips as he slams into the sensitive tissue inside him. Leaving Anakin breathless and disoriented, the Padawan clings onto the grand title given to him by hersey- blessing Obi-wan with what he has longed to hear desecrated.

“ _Master. Master, Ma-ah!”_

He clings onto the title like a sinner to salvation- gracing Obi-wan with dignity, encouraging his Master to pound into him. The sensation of Anakin squeezing- making the velvety tissue quiver around his cock is heavenly. He longs for the vision to be real- he prays for it. 

To have Anakin in such a way. To call him his brother, Padawan, dear one. To blend the culmination of all those entities into one. To fuck his brother, bed his Padawan, make love to his dear one. Those sick thoughts thrilled him- made him feel like a flawed creation and not a Jedi…

And he loves it.

By some miracle he hopes that the visions he sees become reality- to plead for sanctuary and bury himself inside Anakin. Rut into him till his stomach swells with his cum, till he’s fucked raw and thinks only of him, till he disowns his dream of being a Jedi Master- to strip Anakin of his ambitions and make him his slut.

_Thoughts like this… They weren’t his... They couldn’t be his. It was Vader- that horrid Sith imposing on him… It had to be._

A jealous pulse runs down his spine and straight to his groin as he watches Anakin’s hole eagerly devour the Sith’s cock. It enters in one smooth motion- hitting that spot that Obi-wan so desperately wants to touch- that spot that makes Anakin throw his head back, mouth wide with pleasure and scream sweet incoherent nothings. With the visions still hot on his skin, Obi-wan closes his eyes and it is not Vader that holds Anakin. His hands roam the sun-kissed skin lavished with the bruises he left on Anakin, his Padawan, brother, his--

_“Ah! Ma-ah! Master.”_

He wants to speak- to comfort Anakin with abuse. To call him names he won’t dare call another. The urge to humiliate Anakin is dangerous, but it fills him with such drive and passion- passion he’s caged- passion he refuses to acknowledge. A passion so entangled into every fiber of his being that to strip him of it is to kill Obi-wan Kenobi.

He watches, touch starved, as Anakin’s legs tremble- his thighs glisten with sweat, muscles contract as he’s rocked up and down. Drowning in pleasure Anakin screams his name, his title.

He’s waited so long- he’s been pure for so long- detaching himself from emotions, but he’s grown tired of the perjury. He wants to dirty himself with Anakin. 

_Thoughts like this…_

A rush of forbidden thirst spill through their bond. Vader sits in its midst, savoring this wonderfully orchestrated destruction of the two Jedi. Darkness, passion and fervor attributed to anything but the light and the Code surge through them both. Guilt lingers on the horizon for both of them- horrid guilt and self-loathing equal in magnitude to their longing and desire. Vader knows it as he coaxes them both to bend and break into such beautiful pieces. 

The Dark Lord is especially interested in Obi-wan’s intricate deviations, the little dark things that scutter through his mind, across their collectively shared bond. Kenobi was an infamous hypocrite but he hadn’t imagined him breaking in such a lovely way. All it took was a dose of darkness and torture to ruin the delicate glass castle that was the man’s image.

With a touch of force Vader releases Anakin’s binds and lets him drop to the ground. He feels Kenobi’s eyes on him, feels the pit in his belly, the suspense that coils in his aura. The man is so far from the Jedi he was even hours ago as he waits to see what Vader does next- horrified, captivated, shamefully aroused. 

Vader descends on Anakin, putting him on his hands and knees as he takes him again. Despite Anakin’s significant stature he still seems small beneath him. He pulls a hand through the Jedi’s hair and takes a fist of his locks, yanking his head back as he fucks him. Anakin had become accustomed to being handled roughly, but this violence staggers him. 

The Sith funnels every sensation through their bond for Kenobi to feel. The Jedi shudders as his girth throbs, a cesspool of burning envy dripping from his chest into his groin- leaving behind a lustful glint of hope. Salivating, Kenobi watches Anakin’s legs shake, every thrust proving itself too much as he ragged moans turn into high pitched shrieks. His swallow gasps only add to the imbalance in the Force around them.

Vader relishes the fraudulent facade that the Jedi Master so desperately clings to. Denying himself of the pleasure and satisfaction that surges through him, Obi-wan dismisses the obvious rush of ecstasy that lingers as Vader rams into Anakin hard- leaving the Knight gasping shallow breaths between pained whimpers. Pistoning his hips on the sensitive tissue of his prostate, Vader once more earns pleasured moans from Anakin and hatred filled groans from his Master. 

The once light flush on Anakin’s shoulder now turns bright red- matching the back of his ears, neck and cheeks. Bitter, Obi-wan heaves. His eyes narrow onto Anakin’s blushing face, he can’t see much but there is a glaze of tears running down, dripping off his chin.

Obi-wan’s heart races at the prospect of Anakin crying. He can’t quite explain why- he doesn’t want to admit to the thrill he’s felt from witnessing his Padawan’s sweet, delicate tears in the past. It was easy and very Jedi-like to ignore any and all emotion. It was what he had always been taught to do- but right now he was acutely aware of how seeing Anakin like this was making him feel. It was impossible to ignore. 

The excitement seething in his chest was too much to fathom. He concluded that what he was feeling, this vile horrid emotion- this excitement- this hedonistic thought, wasn’t his. It could never be his. He would never want to see Anakin cry. Not when he was a child, not as a teenager, not as a man. 

Obi-wan had always had a funny way of lying to himself. Vader’s lips curl into a smile- Obi-wan, of course can’t see it but he doesn’t deprive himself of the pleasure. Unlike him Vader had learned that through indulgence there was power and if only Obi-wan had soaked himself in that indulgence then maybe they could have conquered worlds together…

He shoves the thought away- empty in its irrelevance. The anger that rises from it lashes into a brutal haul as he throws Anakin at Kenobi’s feet. Lining himself up before reentering the Jedi, his body jerks violently back and forth- swaying erratically. Unable to find stability in the berserk thrusts, tears fall down his reddened cheeks- coating Anakin in the almost celestial glow of the fluorescent lights.

Still adrift in the illusion Vader constructed for him, Anakin cedes to his Master’s grip and tries his best to yield as the man brutally spears him over and over again- his insides in disarray from unbelievable pace and strength- flickers of pleasure blinding him to his hands and knees being bloodied against the duracrete floor. Blissfully unaware of the pain he allows the bruising grip on his hips to guide him into ignorance. 

There’s something so sweet and yet so bitter about being taken this way. Anakin’s heart sings for his Master’s want of him, and aches at the same time- It’s an incoherent mess of emotions that overwhelm and debilitate him. There doesn’t seem to be any words he can find to describe the way his chest burns and caves as his Master uses him like this, or how the pain seemed to mix with his pleasure in such a lovely way. No matter how much he looks for the word to describe this ill-fated mixture of joy, sadness and guilt that pools in his gut, he draws a blank. But what he does find are tears- _sobs-_ wrenching from his core, choking him, pleading for more even at the expense of his body.

Entranced, Obi-wan watches as Vader screws his precious Padawan- watches as his palms and knees scrape on the durasteel floor, watches as Anakin begins to completely and utterly fall apart. The sight is more hypnotic than anything his mind had previously conjured. 

“ _Master,_ ” he sobs, both a lament and plea. His voice quakes and his body trembles, his breathing hitched and erratic.

Vader takes Anakin by the throat and pushes his face to Kenobi’s- making Obi-wan stare directly into lust-filled eyes, his other hand still steady on Anakin’s hip, moving the Knight on his cock at a frantic pace. Obi-wan watches him, feels the heat of his skin, the damp warmth of his breath as he pants and cries that fall out of his rosy lips. 

Obi-wan wants to hold him so badly, his heart breaks under the weight of desperation. Vader, having thoroughly wormed his way into Kenobi’s mind, releases the binds of his wrists and loosens the gag. The Sith loosen his hold on Anakin’s neck- giving him some mobility and inadvertently allowing Obi-wan to hold him- and he does. 

Anakin collapses into Obi-wan’s arms. Sobbing into the crook of his neck- his breath hot on his Master’s skin- begging for more climax. Goosebumps trail up his arms as he relishes the soft texture of Anakin’s sodden skin- he gulps, trying to contain his arousal. His trousers become more and more uncomfortable as his trembling, calloused palms wander Anakin’s torso.

It’s utter torture to hold him like this, to feel his body lurch with each slam of the Sith’s hips impaling Anakin with each thurst. To feel the humm of Anakin’s moans, the tremble in his core as he cries, the oily slick of his sweat-soaked skin. He’s always wanted to see him like this. A part of him is deeply gratified to see Anakin so reduced to incoherent whines and gut-wrenching sobs. At the same time he’s mortified that it’s not him unraveling the Knight.

Anakin’s hands move to wrap around Obi-wan’s neck- nails dig into his master’s flesh as his breathing hitches sharply. Pleasured cries rip from his throat as his body tenses. Obi-wan feels the slick of hot seed spill on his stomach. 

“ _Master,_ ” Anakin moans, his beautiful face blissful with release. But the Sith does not relent. 

A growing anger builds around the beast as he fucks into the Jedi furiously. Overly sensitive from his orgasm Anakin trembles against his Master, clinging onto him tighter.

These two Jedi are at his disposal, Vader knows. They are there to serve to _his_ whims, to serve as toys that he will use as he sees fit. He’s pulled their strings, broken them down, destroyed their ideas of the men that they were, revealed to them their true nature just to feel the anguish it brought them. Now he wants to use this one for his _own_ pleasure. The Jedi, formidable yet so small in his grip, is deliciously taut around his cock. It’s too easy to fuck small pained cries from the man, and Vader does just that. 

Anakin’s voice trembles as he speaks. “ _A-am I g-good for you Master?_ ” He asks, tears streaming down his face. 

Obi-wan breaks, the sting of bitter tears biting at his eyes as he holds Anakin’s face between his palms. “Oh yes, dear one. You’re so good for me, such a _good boy,_ ” Kenobi says, consoling his Padawan for the pain he suffers through. 

Anakin tightens his hold on his master’s shoulders as Vader’s thrusts become wildly sporadic. Obi-wan can see the conflicted expression painted over Anakin’s tear-stained features as he tries so hard to be good for him. Desperate, Kenobi presses his swollen lips on Anakin’s, tasting the salt of his tears, the rough of his tongue. His Padawan’s tongue presses inside his mouth in kind, frantically searching for a tenderness to balance with the brutality of being so violently used.

The anxiety of the moment melts away. Anakin’s lips send waves of endearment, safety. He loses himself in the saline taste, laps it up as if it were liberation from the horrid nightmare. The simmering envy momentarily subsides into relief as the kiss deepens, the ecstasy overwhelms him. He’s only dreamt of this, only in his dreams had he been able to get close enough to touch, kiss, nip, taste…

The warmth of Anakin’s breath on his bottom lip assures him- strengthens his resolve. He feels his heart tumbling over, pulling on strings as it collapses to the bottom of his chest. Shivers crawl down his naval- almost short-circuiting his senses in the process. Nails dig into the toned muscle of his shoulders as Anakin frantically deepens their kiss.

Feeling Anakin so desperate, so desecrated, fills Obi-wan with immediate need that he tries his best to ignore. It aches and throbs in his cock, taunting him with release that he will not- _cannot_ allow himself. He dives into the feeling of his Padawan’s soft lips on his own instead. 

Tears spill from the corners of Obi-wan’s tightly closed eyes and down both of their cheeks. ‘ _So good for me Ani,’_ Obi-wan coos through their bond as he hears the Sith let out a low growl, plowing Anakin hard and steady. Obi-wan can tell the beast is close. 

Rage overtook Obi-wan’s chest in that moment as he held Anakin tighter, wanting to keep from letting the Sith ever lay hands on him again. 

He has no control over the situation, he knows this. Yet, he craves some resemblance of the power Vader has over Anakin. Anything to make him feel like Anakin his, now and for eternity. That the man crying before him was his, and _only_ his. That Vader had no control over him- that he- Anakin’s Master- reigned over him alone. 

He feels the soft pop of Anakin’s jaw on his palm as moans escape his lips in between kisses. Jealousy burns on his fingers. Hot anger builds into his core, leaving him bitter- seeking escape he takes his fingers through Anakin’s curls then pulls- giving himself access to his neck. Starved, he nips at the delicate skin that separates blood from his tongue.

Something despicably heinous stirs inside him. He wants to draw blood from Anakin’s pretty neck. He wants to make him bleed, he wants to watch the perfect body before twitch as he inflicts pain- he wants to hurt Anakin, to break him, watch him crumble- for the smart mouth brat he raised to shudder in fear as he waits to be punished.

His cock hardens at the notion. He shouldn’t be excited- shouldn’t have these thoughts about Anakin, but his heart nurses them into existence, aided by the sloppy, needy kisses Anakin steals from him. Dazed, Obi-wan begins to lose sight of himself as desire pools inside him. Subjugated by his growing need he tugs at the hem of his pants. 

Hissing at the sudden contact of sensitive skin, Obi-wan wraps his hand around the throbbing girth and gives it an experimental tug. Slick with precum his hand glides smoothly, encouraged by Anakin’s needy lips that beckon him to quicken the pace. He shudders as Anakin’s fingers dig into his shoulders- leaving bruised half-moon crests. The pain only adds to the pleasure, and further encourages him to speed up.

There are few things that entertain the Dark Lord, and this by far was the most entertaining thing he’s had the pleasure of witnessing. There Kenobi kneeled, hungrily indulging himself as his Padawan enthusiastically moans into every kiss while Vader plows into him ceaselessly. He feels himself close, and watching Obi-wan fall so perfectly right before his eyes is hardly detracting from his pleasure. The man’s eyes glaze over as he nuzzles his head against Anakin’s neck. His hips stutter into his palm as he, too, is shamefully close.

To sweeten the moment Vader unravels the intricate web enveloping Anakin’s mind. The Padawan shudders as the illusion melts away, returning him to his senses. Anakin breaks their passion-driven kiss with a gurgly groan, his core tightens as he Vader’s hips snap forward- squeezing deliciously around the Sith and earning a groan from Vader. 

He recognizes the cold voice. The blood drains from his face as he turns and sees the Sith. Conflicted with pleasure, Anakin's breath quickens, not from the building tension but for the fear that floods him. Before he could scream a hand wrenches his jaw forward. His lips lock with his Master’s. With wide eyes he feels his mind struggling to catch up with the violence he feels on his skin, inside of him. 

Anakin feels his Master, tastes his lips. His body hurts and though he’s not without pleasure, everything he feels turns to acid, poisoning him from the inside out. A wash of cold dread pours over him more consuming that the oppressive aura of darkness that the Sith imposes on them both. He’s shaking, each savage rut making him feel sick. And pleasure- his pleasure betrays him, filling him with disgust. 

He tries to evade his Master’s mouth but Obi-wan’s grip on him is firm. Frightened whimpers escape him as he struggles and cold tears slide down his face as he feels Vader’s hips falter, chasing after his own selfish pleasure.

Finally Anakin wrenches his jaw from his Master’s grip, nearly giving in to the heaving sobs that ache in his chest. He sees Obi-wan’s hand down his own trousers as the man tries to pull him closer. It’s impossible for his mind to catch up, for his heart to understand what is happening. He feels dirty and used and so many other things that hurt and fester almost worse than the things Vader inflicts on him now. 

And even worse is how he feels Obi-wan pulling from his pain, savoring it as he greedily pumps his shaft. Obi-wan _wants_ to feel him this way. Just another thing his heart can’t seem to make sense of. 

The force of Vader’s thrusts nearly topple him over. Anakin can feel the beast shaking, staving off as well as he can. He wrestles against his grip as hard as he can to no avail. The idea of this Sith spilling inside him sends fault lines through his core. He begs through their bond for his Master to help him, to keep this monster from defiling him _completely_.

_“Oh-obi-wan_ ,” Anakin cries, cursing the pleasure that twists itself up in the pain and shame he feels. “ _Please,_ ” he begs. Still he is ignored.

Obi-wan lets loose a salacious moan as his hips buck up into his hand. Anakin feels the fault lines in his heart crack and break as bitter tears blur his vision. 

“What of your Padawan, Kenobi- should I spare him?” Vader’s voice rasps out, his enjoyment audible through his hellish mask. 

Anakin waits for his Master to speak out on his behalf. Seconds pass by that feel like hours and all he can hear are Obi-wan’s strangled cries of pleasure. Taking the absence of words as permission Vader fucks into him harder. Anakin screams, contending against the Sith although it is useless and futile.

The hard slam of Vaders hips against him as the Dark Lord spills inside him nearly topples him over. The warmth and slick of it push him over the edge, pushing fresh waves of pleasure through his pulsing cock as he cums. Obi-wan is not far behind them, his voice warbling as orgasm racks his body. 

Having served his use, the Sith pulls away from him and Anakin collapses on the harsh duracrete floor, thoroughly soiled with seed. His chest is heaving, his heart shattered, his mind empty and numb. He feels guilt surge through his Master- _no-_ through _Obi-wan_. Anakin couldn’t bring himself to call the man Master, not even in his mind. Not anymore. 

The dark satisfaction Vader feels rings in the air as clear as a bell as he leaves both of them there- just two broken things he’d had the pleasure of destroying himself. 

Obi-wan quickly composes himself, his face flushed with guilt- or perhaps from the pleasure he felt for Anakin being so ruthlessly brutalized- either way he didn’t care. Anakin lays lifeless on the floor. The chilled duracrete numbs his nerves as he watches Obi-wan’s features soften into concern. The Jedi reaches out to him.

Anakin flinches, quickly distancing himself from the unseemingly depraved man.

Obi-wan retracts his hand. In shame, his eyes darted to the soiled palm he would have touched Anakin with. He wipes his seed on his pants- trying to cleanse himself. Anakin watches, wounded, his knees tucked to his chest as he leans on the wall where he was once chained and untouched- where he wishes he still was…

Obi-wan opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

**Author's Note:**

> Yike! No regrets we don't apologize for Jack shit!


End file.
